


the ash is in our clothes

by jennycaakes



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 13:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15144044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/pseuds/jennycaakes
Summary: Justin keeps having dreams about Holster dying. More specifically: Holster as a firefighter dying, calling out his name.And they feel very, very real.--(wingman explanation au)





	the ash is in our clothes

**Author's Note:**

> SO HERE'S THE THING....... everyone WARNED me not to read Wingman. They told me to avoid it. stay away! it's awful! it's so fucking sad! and what the fuck did i do? like a GODDAMN IDIOT? I READ WINGMAN.
> 
> so i wrote this because i COULD NOT stop crying for the life of me and needed to convince myself, SOMEHOW, that things were okay. so thus, wingman became a nightmare in this universe, and holsom are in love for forever. 
> 
> if you haven't read Wingman I will warn you - maybe DON'T DO IT BECAUSE IT'S SO SAD AND I REGRET IT SO MUCH. this fic is self-explanatory and you don't need to read that comic to understand it. if you want to read Wingman as an extension of this, I still think maybe don't do it. it's so sad. if you want to read Wingman as a rite of passage, well. godspeed, because that's mostly why I did it.
> 
> if you don't know what Wingman is at all, it's this comic that Ngozi made and it's ummm devastating? it's so sad. why did she do that to me?!?! you can google it and it comes up pretty easily. fair warning: major character death and suicidal ideation in that. there are a few lines in here that are taken directly from the comic.
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoy this and find some peace, because goddamn it there is no universe where justin oluransi should have to live without adam birkholtz absolutely ever.
> 
> for tag warnings - there's a major character death in the Wingman comic but only in the Dream World in this fic. it's maybe not the Happiest Cutest piece ever but it was cathartic for me to write and they end up together so whatever. sorry if i am breaking a million fandom rules by acknowledging the Wingman in the room but again, needed to do this for my own sanity. 
> 
> this fic could've been heavier, I know, and really touched on suicidal ideation and actually losing one of your best friends, but it's a Fic and I'm a tired girl who would like to avoid the nuances of all of that for the time being based on my own Life Experiences. please don't judge me too harshly for that.
> 
> ALSO sorry if anyone has done this before!!
> 
> love y'all! find peace. spread joy. tell your friends how important they are to you.

The first time Justin has the dream, he can’t remember much.

All he knows is that he wakes up with an ache in his stomach and tears in his eyes. He feels defeated and overwhelmingly sad and his body’s covered in sweat and he wants to see Holster right now, immediately.

Justin doesn’t know where it’s coming from. His day was normal. A phone call home to his grandmother and a long conversation about family, dinner with his friends gathered around the table of Haus 2.0. Nothing super out of the ordinary. But there’s something heavy inside of him now despite his innocuous day and he can’t stand it.

He checks the clock before throwing himself out of bed and padding as quickly as he can down the hallway before reaching Holster’s room. When he slips in, shutting Holster’s door behind him, the room is too dark to really see him. Still, Justin knows Holster’s room almost as well as he knows his own, so he tiptoes around the casual mess that Holster always leaves out and climbs into bed beside his best friend.

Holster sits up at once. “Wha’s happening?” he rasps, rubbing at his eyes as the bed dips.

“It’s just me,” Justin murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”

Holster lays back down, nodding but confused. “You okay?” he manages, voice thick with sleep. “You need anything?”

Justin looks at Holster in the low-light of this room, already falling asleep beside him. “I’m okay,” he whispers back.

* * *

The second time Justin has the dream, he remembers everything.

He wakes up with a gasp, a shout dying in his throat, tears streaming down his face while he heaves for air. He throws himself out of bed and sprints down the hallway. Holster wakes up when he enters this time, seeing as Justin practically slams the door open, and he’s on his feet at once.

“Holy shit Rans,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around Justin and holding as tight as he can. “Hey, breathe. What’s going on?”

Justin shakes his head and buries himself against his best friend.

How is he supposed to tell Holster that he’s having dreams about Holster _dying_?

Something inside of Justin feels so helpless. He feels like he’s lived this before, like this sadness that’s consuming him is something he once felt at full capacity, in reality. He cries in Holster’s arms until he can’t breathe anymore and Holster’s there the whole time making soft, shushing noises until the air in the room settles.

He pulls Justin into bed and drapes an arm over Justin’s waist, tugging him until his back is flat against Holster’s chest.

When Justin falls asleep he has Holster all around him, warm.

* * *

Justin doesn’t know how to make the dreams stop coming or where they’re even coming from.

They feel like another life, one he’s lived before, one he’s still trying to figure out how to survive. Whenever he wakes up he feels like one of his limbs is missing and he climbs out of bed at once. Holster’s stopped asking what the dreams are about, stopped questioning the tears that burn Justin’s eyes, but he always makes space for him in bed.

If Shitty and Lardo have noticed that something’s going on with Justin, neither of them mention it. Even Holster has spared him the need for deets, which is a blessing. Justin’s not sure he can put what’s happening to him into words.

The dreams are like this.

It’s the two of them, because it’s always the two of them. In every lifetime, in every story, whether it's as hockey players or as fireman. And there’s a fire raging around them. And Justin’s staring at Holster through their gear, heavy and suffocating, meant to protect them.

And he’s beautiful. He’s always so beautiful, in nightmares or in dreams or in real life, keeping the other side of the bed warm. His eyes are blue and genuine and then suddenly--full of fear.

And the ground is unstable, Justin knows it is, and he tries to lead Holster out. But it breaks and Holster falls and he calls out-- _Jay!_

Sometimes that’s how they end. Sometimes they drag on.

Sometimes Justin returns home to an empty apartment where a photo of he and Holster sits by where he sets his keys. The loneliness and guilt cements inside his chest. Some nights Justin dreams of himself alone on his couch. Some nights he dreams of the others checking in on him. Some nights Holster’s there with a halo on his head, wings growing on his back as he tries to get Justin to _engage_ some more with the world around him.

“ _You died_ ,” Justin snarls one night in his dream and he wakes up in a start.

Tonight, he pulls his legs up and wraps his arms around himself and cries until he can’t breathe. He doesn’t fall back asleep.

It’s the weekend and he expects his friends to sleep all of Saturday, but Lardo’s in the kitchen when he goes to make some coffee. Her eyes practically bulge out of her head when she sees him.

“Holy shit, Rans,” she says. “You look like death.”

“Don’t,” he mutters.

“What happened to you?”

Justin rubs at his eyes and shakes his head. “I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he tells her. “That’s all. I’m fine.”

It doesn’t look like Lardo is a fan of this answer but she doesn’t push. Instead she fixes a cup of coffee for herself and sits across from him at the table. She talks about her newest art piece, full of sharp reds and burning oranges, and Justin does everything he can to stop himself from thinking of his dreams.

When Holster stumbles into the kitchen about an hour later, he strides right for Justin, almost like he knows he needs him. He rests his hand on Justin’s shoulder, fingers fanning out closer to the base of his neck, and Justin exhales the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in since last night. He leans into Holster’s touch and lets the comfort of it wash over him.

“Let’s do something today,” Holster murmurs after he gets his own coffee. He lowers himself into the seat next to Justin, their knees knocking beneath the table, and even though Lardo’s here too Justin knows the statement is directed to him. He nudges Justin with his elbow, offering a smile so soft and warm that it brings peace to Justin at once. “Hm?”

“Like what?” Justin asks.

“Dunno. Walk around the lake, or something.”

“Cute,” Lardo comments.

They don’t make it out of the house for a couple more hours, but eventually they get to the lake. Justin doesn’t feel quite like himself but Holster keeps up the conversation like there’s nothing wrong.

“You think it would be easy, you know?” Holster rambles on. “It’s like--a math equation. A list. Step by step. I don’t understand how cooking is all that hard when there’s literally a recipe right there in front of you.”

Justin exhales a laugh. “You just gotta keep trying, Holtz.”

“I’m not immediately perfect at it so I really want to give up.”

“Shuddup,” Justin says, nudging him with his elbow. “You work hard on so much shit all the time. You can’t give up on cooking, you’re the best we have here. If you give up on cooking then we’re _screwed_.”

“Then _help me_ ,” Holster whines. They don’t eat as well in Haus 2.0 as they did when Bitty was their in-Haus cook, but they’re working on it. “It’s so boring when I do it by myself! And the payoff isn’t even that great.”

“Sure, fine,” Justin says tiredly. “I can help you cook tonight.”

“And tomorrow,” Holster says with a grin, “and forever.”

“Maybe.”

“Pleeease, Rans.”

“We’ll see,” Justin tells him.

Holster’s grin fades. They slow until they stop. Holster shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Rans?” he asks.

Justin stares out at the rippling water. “Yeah?”

“I’m worried about you,” he says.

Justin looks up and over at him. “I’m okay,” Justin says. He doesn’t ask why, because it’s clear _why,_ but maybe that’s for the best.

Holster’s face is puckered with concern. “Would you tell me?” he wonders. “If I could do something to help?”

Justin turns to him and reaches out at once, grabbing Holster’s hand between his own. “You do,” he murmurs.

They hold one another’s gaze for a long time while Justin holds his hands. If he can ground himself in this moment, in this reality that he lives in where Holster is by his side in Boston, maybe the dreams will stop. Maybe Justin’ll be able to sleep through the night.

“You’re my best friend,” Justin tells him.

Holster smiles then, so warm and bright that for a moment, Justin convinces himself that everything’s okay. “You know I’d die for you, bro,” Holster tells him.

Justin feels himself shutter at once. “I’d never ask you to,” he says, tugging his hands out of Holster’s. “And I’d never want you to,” he adds, starting to walk again.

Holster watches him walk a few steps before he hurries after him. “Rans it’s just what people say,” Holster tells him, voice full of confusion. “Obviously I’d--”

“Just--” Justin stops him. He lets out a deep breath, shaking his head. “Just drop it. Okay?”

“ _Justin_ ,” Holster says sharply. Justin stops walking again. “What the hell is going on with you?” he asks, and he sounds desperate. “This isn’t Samwell stress,” he says, ducking himself into Justin’s line of vision so he can look him in the eye. “This is something else, something different.”

“Just let my precious coral reef sort itself out on its own,” Justin mutters.

“ _No_ ,” Holster says, so loud and booming that Justin feels it reverberate in his chest. He reaches out for Justin’s hand again and Justin lets him take it. “Talk to me,” he pleads, tugging Justin’s hand toward his chest.

Justin lingers, his hand resting over Holster’s heart. And it’s beating, so loud and so hard that Justin can feel it.

Tears spring to his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and Holster’s wrapping his arms around him immediately. “I’m so sorry,” Justin cries.

“Shh, shh, shh, hey,” Holster whispers. “Hey, it’s okay.” He winds himself around Justin and holds tight. His hand cups the back of Justin’s head, the other firm against his back. “I’ve got you, Rans, I’m right here.”

“I’m just not sleeping well,” he sputters out. He presses his forehead to Holster’s shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stop himself from crying. “I swear that nothing happened. No one’s--hurt me or anything, nothing _actually_ happened. I’m okay. I’m just so goddamn tired and I keep having these--fucking horrible dreams, Holtz.”

“Bout what?” he asks. Justin shakes his head. Not yet. “Okay. Okay, so just--” Holster pulls back a little so he can look at Justin. He’s a mess, tears staining his cheeks, but Holster doesn’t comment on it. “Okay, so you’re having bad dreams. Just come sleep with me when you need to,” he says. “Yeah? Does that help?”

Justin sniffles, trying to get control over his stupid fucking emotions. “Yeah,” he admits.

“Okay. So my door’s always open for you anyway, Rans. Just come snuggle with me.”

Justin chokes out a laugh. “God, Holtz.” He buries his face back against Holster’s chest. “You’re the fucking best.”

“At everything but cooking,” he answers without missing a beat, “which is why I need your help.” Justin really laughs then, so incredibly thankful for this man, his best friend, who always knows how to make him feel better. When he pulls back again, Holster wipes below his eyes gently “And if you want to talk,” he says, “then I’m here.”

“I know,” Justin says. “Thank you.”

* * *

He almost doesn’t go to Holster’s room.

He almost winds his arms around himself again and sits with the feelings of guilt and terror and sadness that linger in his chest. But his throat feels raw and his eyes are throbbing and Justin’s so tired and so _afraid_ so he climbs out of bed anyway, hurrying through their home to get to Holster’s room.

Holster’s… awake.

He’s on his laptop when Justin pushes the door open, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking at his screen with so much disdain that it’s clear he’s doing something for work.

“Oh,” Justin says.

“Get in here,” Holster answers, waving him in. Justin enters almost nervously. It’s much easier to climb into bed with Holster when Holster’s asleep. All of these feelings bunched up inside of him make him feel taut and unsure. “I’ll be ready for bed in a sec, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Justin murmurs. He climbs under Holster’s sheets and stares up at the ceiling. His bed smells like him. Like sunshine and unending possibilities. Like loud laughter and louder love. “Holtz,” he wonders, feeling sleepy, cocooned in Holster’s scent. “Would you ever be a firefighter?”

Holster, God bless him, laughs.

“Hell no, Rans. Why?”

Justin keeps his eyes closed. “You’ve never thought about it?”

“Maybe when I was a kid,” Holster tells him, shutting his laptop. “I’d be a great candidate for one of those sexy firefighter calendars. But that’s not something I’ve ever--like, thought about actually doing.”

Something in Justin’s chest loosens. “Good.”

Holster flicks off some lights and climbs into bed beside him, pulling Justin close. “Would you?” he murmurs once they’re wound around each other.

“No.”

Holster presses a kiss to Justin’s forehead. “Good. That’s some risky shit.”

Justin’s fingers curl against Holster’s shirt. “You have no idea.”

* * *

The dreams don’t go away.

In fact, they get worse, and Justin finds himself in Holster’s bed nearly every night.

“You can just… start here,” Holster says one morning. He’s not looking Justin in the eye, but rather tracing his finger down Justin’s bare arm in a swirling pattern. “You don’t have to wait until a nightmare, Rans. You can just sleep in here with me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he answers.

“No it’s not.” Holster smiles, almost hesitantly. “It’s like when the ghosts would bother you in the Haus.”

“Don’t even start, Holtz,” Justin murmurs, knowing Holster doesn’t super believe in the ghosts. Holster chuckles, slow and syrupy sweet, half-asleep and all kinds of warm. “I have my own room,” he says. “I can’t just live in here. And besides, it’s not every night.”

Holster exhales a deep breath. “Okay. But I really don’t mind, Justin.”

Holster’s finger slides up over Justin’s bicep, along his shoulder. Justin swallows. How Holster, always so loud and overpowering, can be just as soft and gentle, Justin still has yet to figure out. His fingertip on Justin’s skin is distracting, comforting even, until Holster brushes his fingers over Justin’s jaw.

Holster licks his lips and Justin can’t stop staring at his mouth.

“Maybe I will,” Justin finally says.

Holster’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I want to.”

“Then you definitely should,” Holster whispers.

* * *

A couple of weeks pass with the nightmares coming on and off before Justin finally snaps.

He’s been bottling them up inside of him for so long that when his nightmares seem to manifest in the real world, he knows he has to say something.

Everyone’s over the Haus 2.0, Bitty perched on Jack’s lap in one of the bigger chairs, Shitty sprawled out across the floor, Dex and Nursey tossing candy at one another from across the room. They’re playing Mario Kart and Justin’s not feeling it, tired as he always is, content to just soak up the presence of his friends.

“We need one more player,” Holster’s saying as he hands out the controllers. Lardo was in right away, and Nursey’s great at Mario Kart so he’s got a controller too, but no one else is super leaping at the opportunity. “Rans?”

“Count me out,” he says.

“Aw, c’mon Jay,” Holster calls, and Justin freezes. “Play with us!”

In an instant, this easy afternoon has been flooded with fear.

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps. “I don’t want to play.”

Everyone in the room visibly tenses. Holster stands up a little straighter, the grin fading from his face. “Rans--”

“Just don’t call me that,” he says again, short, before pushing himself off the couch and striding into the kitchen.

 _Jay_.

Holster’s never called Justin that. Nobody calls Justin that except this twisted, dream version of Holster who falls to his death after calling out Justin's name.

Justin listens to the concerned murmurs of his friends while he grabs another beer. He doesn’t hear Holster enter while he’s digging through the fridge, but he’s not surprised to see him when he turns to head to the living room again. Justin leans back against the fridge. Holster lingers in the doorway.

“You okay?” Holster asks slowly.

Justin shrugs. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to play,” he says, almost nervously. Like he knows this isn’t _really_ about Mario Kart. “I gave my controller to Dex. Chowder hopped in. It’s fine.”

Justin nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says again.

They kind of stay like that for a moment, Justin’s chest feeling like someone’s sitting on it while he waits for Holster to make the next move.

Finally Holster takes a step toward. “Would you tell me? If you really weren’t okay?”

“Always,” Justin says breezily, but Holster’s tension doesn’t fade. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, Rans. I just thought it was getting better.”

Justin fiddles with the tab of his beer. “I’m fine,” he says, because it’s easier than explaining. “It has been,” he lies. “Getting better.”

“You’ve been short with me for weeks,” Holster says, holding his ground. “With everyone, but mostly me. And--paranoid, Rans. Real fucking paranoid. And you’re always looking at me like you’re afraid of me.”

 _Of_ him? 

“ _No_ ,” Justin rasps. He sets the beer on the counter and turns away from Holster, shaking his head. “No, no, it’s not--fuck. It’s not that, Adam.” Holster doesn’t say anything else, he just stands in the doorway, almost as though he’s unable to move. Justin lifts his hands to his face. “Fuck.”

“Is it these nightmares?” Holster wonders. Justin doesn’t turn around to look at him. He just grips the countertop tightly. “Okay,” Holster exhales. “Okay. I won’t ask again. I promise. I just…” he trails off, sounding defeated. “Rans, I want to be here for you,” he whispers. His voice is so tormented that it makes Justin ache. “I won’t ask again. I’m sorry I keep pushing you. I just don’t know what else I can do to make this easier.”

Justin squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath.

“It is,” he manages. “The nightmares. It’s the nightmares.”

“Yeah?” Holster asks. He takes slow but sure steps into the kitchen, closer to Justin. “They’re that bad?”

“They’re fucking shit, Holtz,” he whimpers. He can feel Holster a few steps behind him but he can’t look at him, he can’t. “They’re so bad I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Different every time?” Holster asks, and Justin can hear the worry in his voice. “Or the same thing?”

“The same thing,” Justin tells him. Again and again and again. _Tell him_. “And you die?” Justin says, his voice cracking with his words. “You die,” he says again, finally turning to look at his friend. “And it’s--God, Holtz it’s fucking awful. You die and I’m left there trying to figure out how to exist without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Rans,” Holster tells him softly. His eyes are wide and wet and he reaches out, grabbing Justin’s hands. “It’s been about me? This whole time?”

Justin lets Holster tug him closer.

“You don’t understand,” he carries on weakly, because he needs Holster to understand. “It feels so fucking _real_ , Adam.” In those moments after he wakes, it feels like Holster really is gone. “I don’t know how to make them stop.”

“I’m right here,” Holster promises him. His voice is fierce and sure and Justin nods, clinging to this truth. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.”

Putting it out into the world like this is freeing. Justin feels something inside of him break as he lets Holster hold him, as he lets Holster stroke his back and whisper reassurances over and over until Justin’s out of tears, until he’s no longer gasping for breath, until he’s shaking from having poured out every bit of sadness that has gathered itself inside of him.

When he’s finished, Holster lowers his forehead to Justin’s, leaning so close their noses brush.

“I could never leave you,” Holster murmurs, shaking his head just a little bit. His voice is low and scratchy and looking into his eyes like this, Justin nearly starts to cry again. “Not even if I tried.”

* * *

Justin loves his friends dearly, as they try their hardest to return to normal when he and Holster finally leave the kitchen to rejoin them. Shitty cracks a joke and Bitty says something about whipping up some dinner but Justin’s still stuck, lodged somewhere between fear and relief.

“It’s okay,” he tells his friends as they flounder for a new topic. “I know I’ve been out of it.” He’s on the couch beside Holster now, their hands laced together as he leans against Holster’s shoulder. That’s where he’s looking as he talks, their twined fingers. “I’ve been having these nightmares about Holtz dying,” he explains, voice quiet. “It’s really screwing with me.”

“I have no plans to die anytime soon,” Holster tells the room, and a few people manage laughs.

“Does it feel premonition-y?” Lardo asks. “Should we be avoiding like, beaches, or something? How’s he dying?”

“No,” Justin shakes his head, still looking at his and Holster’s hands. “It’s not like that. It’s like--this seperate life. The same scenario. Over and over again and I can’t--do anything about it.”

“Gosh, that sounds awful,” Bitty says with a sigh. The rest of the gang nods in agreement. “When did they start? Do you think something triggered them?”

Justin isn’t sure where these nightmares are coming from, but he’s never really thought about that first night before. “Maybe?”

“When was the first?” Jack asks.

Justin thinks.

“We don’t have to do this now,” Holster says, soft enough that Justin knows he’s talking to him but loud enough that the room can also hear.

“A couple of months ago,” Justin says, thankful for the out, but also feeling like maybe the reason these nightmares are still here is because he _hasn’t_ spoken about them. He used to think that naming them would give power to the fear, but maybe that isn’t true. Justin thinks back to that first night and tries as hard as he can to remember what the hell was going on in his life then. “It was right after--”

Oh.

He looks up, meeting Holster’s gaze. Unrelentingly blue and warm, waiting for Justin to finish his sentence.

“Right after what?” Dex asks.

But Justin can’t look away from Holster’s gaze and he doesn’t want to. How could he have been such an idiot about this?

“My grandparents,” Justin whispers.

Holster’s eyebrows climb higher on his forehead. “Oh, Rans,” he exhales.

But even Holster can’t completely understand. “It’s just my Nana left,” he explains to his friends, but he’s still looking at Holster. “My mom makes sure I call her more often because she’s getting older,” he tells them, finally turning to the room. “So I’d called her and we’d had this conversation about my grandfather who--he passed a few years ago.” Holster squeezes his hand a little tighter. “And she was talking about…” he trails off. Justin suddenly feels very overwhelmed with emotion. “Whoa. Sorry, guys, I don’t know--”

“Don’t even worry about it Rans,” Lardo says. “Haus 2.0 is a safe space for all feelings.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he forces out a chuckle. Justin looks back to where he and Holster are holding hands. “She was talking about how when he died she didn’t just lose her partner,” he says.

“She lost her best friend,” Holster finishes the sentiment for him, realizing where it’s going. “Jesus, Rans.”

“It was such a short conversation,” he carries on, shaking his head. “How could that--I don’t know how--”

“The brain works in crazy ways, man,” Nursey tells him, but he’s smiling.

In fact, a lot of people are smiling, even though this conversation totally sucks, and it’s because they know _exactly_ why Justin’s brain has latched onto the fear of losing Holster. Why it’s morphed into this recurring nightmare that has haunted him for months.

“Yeah,” Justin agrees, leaning back onto the couch. “It really does.”

* * *

Justin settles down in Holster’s bed that night while Holster’s in the shower.

Things don’t feel quite finished yet.

When Holster emerges from the shower, towel tied around his waist, he isn’t even surprised to find Justin in his bed. He greets him normally, commenting on the fact that the water pressure in this Haus is way better than their old Haus, and Justin sinks down into the sheets with a smile.

Holster changes, does a bit of work, and then climbs into bed as well.

They have things to talk about. Justin’s declaration earlier, the fact that his mind has pushed _best friend_ and _partner_ into one in the same, he almost expects things to be awkward. But it’s not. They laugh about something Nursey said to Dex and speculate about Jack and Bitty’s future and when it’s time for sleep, it comes easier than Justin expects it to.

His dreams still burn with fire.

He watches Adam collapse into the flames, shouting out for him.

He feels it in his chest.

He waits for his wingman to appear.

Once. _I’m here to help_. Twice. _It’s really hard to be your wingman when…_ Three times. _Where ya going?_

And then--something new. Holster behind him with his wings, calling out for him. A walk to a bridge. A thought--so horrifying and so loud but Justin can’t deny the appeal of it. To lose that burden in his bones. To escape a world where the only person who understands him so completely is gone.

“ _Sometimes the hardest part is forgiving yourself for the stuff you can’t control.”_

He climbs back over the railing.

(good morning)

Justin blinks himself awake.

Beside him, Holster is asleep.

But he’s alive. He’s here and he’s alive and he’s asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling as he dreams. The sky outside is still dark and the clock tells him that it’s late but Justin feels more awake than he has in a long time. He rolls onto his side and reaches up, brushing his fingers carefully through Holster’s hair. He stirs at Justin’s touch but doesn’t startle, instead rolling on his side and throwing his arm over Justin’s waist and pulling him close.

“Did you have the nightmare again?” he murmurs.

"Yeah but I think it’s over,” Justin whispers back. There are tears in his eyes and he wants to sob but he swallows it back, focusing his attention on Holster. “Really really over this time.”

“Yeah?” Holster rasps. Justin rests his hand on Holster’s cheek and Holster leans into it, smiling softly. “Was it different this time?”

“Longer,” Justin tells him.

Holster drags his hand up Justin’s back. “Tell me what happened?” he wonders sleepily.

So Justin tells him.

He tells Holster about this nightmare that’s followed him for months. He tells Holster about this other version of themselves, still two souls who fed off of one another’s energy, two men in a distant and different life that’s surrounded by fire. He tells Holster about the flames that have haunted his sleep, the way Justin tried to lead Holster from the danger but the floor collapsed, the way Holster would call out for him one last time before the flames claimed him.

And now that he’s started he can’t stop talking. He tells Holster about the physical ache that followed him even after he woke, how even in his dreams he couldn’t carry on without Holster by his side. Almost embarrassed he tells Holster about angel!Holster, who manifested in this world as a way to keep Justin from losing his mind in that awful dreamscape.

Holster just listens, eyes wide and blue, nodding along to Justin’s story.

Finally, tears push through, and Justin buries his face against Holster’s chest as he chokes out the rest of the story. This hopefully final end, where dream!Justin felt so hopeless and empty that he found his way to a bridge and planned to end it all.

“Jesus, Justin,” Holster whispers. When Justin pulls back, he finds tears in Holster’s eyes too. “What happened next?”

“Angel you popped up,” he forces out despite the knot in his throat. “Said something about forgiving yourself for things you can’t control. And I got off the bridge. And I woke up.”

Holster leans in, pressing his forehead to Justin’s, and shakes his head a little. “What can’t you control?” he asks. Justin sucks in a sharp, nervous breath. “In this real world? Not this--firefighter AU your brain thinks we live in. But here.” Justin swallows. He can’t say it. “What do you need forgiveness for, Rans?”

He has to say it.

It's the only thing left that makes him so afraid.

“Loving you the way I do,” he whispers.

Holster’s lips part in surprise. His eyes widen and he shakes his head, leaning in. “You don’t need forgiveness for that,” Holster rasps, desperate.

And then Holster kisses him.

The feeling of Holster’s mouth on his is so brutally overwhelming, full of so much deep-seeded relief, that Justin isn’t sure that he can handle it.

He loves Holster so much more than a partner on the ice, so much more than a best friend. He’s in love with him, entirely and completely. The thought of losing him, even in a universe that isn’t this one, is so heartbreaking that the pain had followed Justin into the waking state. He can’t imagine any version of himself without Holster and he doesn’t want to.

More importantly, he shouldn't have to.

Holster kisses him like he’s thought about doing it for a long time and Justin kisses him back, barely clinging to his sanity. They’re trading kisses and whispers and Justin’s still crying, eyes burning like he’s actually lost Holster despite the fact that Holster’s _here_.

“I could feel it,” Justin rasps, still not sure that Holster completely understands. “Every time I lost you I could feel it.”

“I’m right here,” Holster tells him. He presses kisses all over Justin’s face like he’s trying to cover every inch of his skin. “I’m right here. Okay?”

“Even just thinking about it hurts _so fucking much,_ Adam.”

“I know I know,” Holster whispers, and suddenly his eyes are watering too. “I know. But that version of us,” Holster carries on desperately, “they don’t exist. They’re not real.” Justin is really crying now, overwhelmed with joy but also so hopelessly sad for the Justin Oluransi who really has lost his best friend. “It’s just us, Justin. It’s me and you, here in my bed. Safe. Together. Okay?”

“Okay,” Justin croaks. He squeezes his eyes shut and says a million thanks to this universe, offers the world a million apologies for another.

“Justin, hey.” Holster kisses him gently before lifting up to press a kiss to his forehead, right in the middle. “I’m right here,” he says. “Look at me.” Justin forces his eyes open, forces himself to look at this man who holds him like everything is okay. “I love you,” Holster tells him, urgent. “I really fucking love you, Rans. I have for so fucking long.”

“I don’t know how to exist without you,” Justin tells him.

Holster reaches up to swat at his own tears. “Yes you do,” he says. “You did just fine before you met me.”

Justin shakes his head. “Well I don’t _want to_ ,” he mutters sharply.

“You don’t have to,” Holster promises, echoing Justin's line of thought from earlier, and it's so freeing and so wonderful that Justin can't even believe it.

He kisses Justin, softer than any of the earlier kisses. It feels like a breath of fresh air. It eases Justin into a calmer state of being. It stops him gasping for air, fighting tears and swallowing sobs. It brings him comfort, it re-grounds him in this moment.

Holster’s right. It’s just the two of them, here, safe.

Together.

* * *

Thank God it’s a Sunday because Justin sleeps in well past noon. Sobbing like you’ve actually lost your favorite person in the entire world tends to take a lot out of a person. Even when he wakes up, wrapped in Holster’s arms, he still feels like all of the energy has been sapped from him.

Holster’s awake first but he hasn’t moved. His fingertips glide along Justin’s arms, his back, soft touches that aren’t meant to wake him. But when he stirs, he smiles, and Holster smiles back.

“Hi,” Justin greets, voice raw from the night before.

“Morning, Rans.”

Justin leans in, kissing him softly. “Good morning,” he whispers back.

And it really is.

**Author's Note:**

> just catch me cryin' 
> 
> find me on tumblr @madgesundersee or twitter @wholesomeholsom - always happy to chat with you!


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